


To Err Is Human

by lilsherlockian1975



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: A Very Angry Sherlock, Angst, Description of Physical Injuries, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Not my usual Mycroft, Romance, Violence, teeth rotting fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-29 00:57:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3876352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilsherlockian1975/pseuds/lilsherlockian1975
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six hours after the Moriarty broadcast and Molly has been left alone, unprotected the entire time. Was it a mistake? Was she forgotten? And can she ever forgive Sherlock for allowing something horrible to happen to her?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this one is a bit of a departure from my normal fluffy, comedy. **There are descriptions of torture, violence, and severe physical injury. Don't read this story if this is any kind of trigger for you. Please, no hurt feelings... just move on.**
> 
> It's chuck-full of angst... but hold on dearies, if you've read anything I've ever written you will know I tend to end things on a positive note. We will see (almost) the entire cast at some point or another and I even wrote an original character this time. As the sadness builds, don't despair, hang in there with me. I promise there is a payoff.
> 
> Much thanks to the amazing MizJoely for betaing this story (She is an angel with a word processing program, instead of a harp) and as always to my dear friend MrMCrieff for Brit answers and moral support. (I wouldn't have to bother her so much if my stubborn husband would just give in and move us to the UK... I ask for one little thing, to move to another continent, and he's all "No, we live in America!" Bah, he's no fun.)
> 
> As per usual, I own nothing... Enjoy.

* * *

Molly sat alone in her office wondering what the hell was going on. She had, just like everyone else in Britain, seen Moriarty's face appear seemingly out of nowhere. Mike came down and immediately checked on her. She said she was fine and he had gone off to meet with other department heads. Now she was alone. She wanted to call someone, but who? If she were in any danger surely someone would have come for her, surely they wouldn't have left her alone, _right_? No, she couldn't be in danger, that made no sense whatsoever. She and Sherlock had hardly spoken since she had tested him for drugs. She had only seen him once while he was in the hospital and he wasn't even conscious. She was nothing more than an bit player in the great drama that is the epic theatrical production of Sherlock's life. As far as she knew no one, including John Watson, knew she was the one that helped him fake his death. Sure there were theories and yes she was included in them, but so was the use of a TARDIS for heaven's sake. No one could have taken these theories seriously.

 

She couldn't concentrate on her work, so as she sat there her mind started to wander to the very strange phone call she had received the night before.

 

_"Hi Mary, how are you feeling?" she answered her phone, quite surprised to be receiving a call from John's wife. They weren't close after all._

_"I'm well Molly, thank you," There was a pause, a long one. Molly started to ask what was going on when Mary spoke again. "Molly, Sherlock is going away again."_

_"Oh?" Molly instantly knew there was something huge going on, she just didn't know if she wanted to hear the whole story this time. She loved the man, of course she always would, but if she were honest she was feeling a bit discarded as of late._

_"Yes, I wanted to come over and tell you in person, but John... well I didn't want him to know."_

_Molly didn't know what to say. Mary was sounding very much not like herself, or the Mary that Molly normally saw at least. "Well thank you for telling me. I haven't seen him in an age, but I suppose it's good to know why he won't be the lab for a while." She heard Mary take a deep breath._

_"Molly," she said. "I'm so sorry for this."_

_"For what?" Molly asked completely confused._

_"I know how much you care for him and you don't seem to understand how..." She stopped talking abruptly. Molly could hear John talking in the background, then she heard Mary tell John that she'd be back inside in just a moment. "Look I-I have to go, John hasn't figured it out yet and I don't know how to tell him." It sounded like Mary was crying._

_"Hasn't figured what out Mary?" Molly asked frantically._

_"Oh my God Molly, I'm so sorry." Then the line went dead._

 

Molly spent the next several hours trying to figure out what the strange phone could have possibly meant while futilely attempting to complete her mound of paperwork. She was just about to give up and see if she could take off early when the lights in her office went out. Her heart suddenly felt like it was in her throat. She stood up and made her way to the door. There was enough illumination from the emergency lights to see someone standing just outside her office door. She could tell it was a man.

 

"H-hello?" she stammered. "Um, d-do you know what's going on?"

 

The man walked silently toward her, Molly could only back into her office to retreat. "Who are y-you?" Still nothing, he just kept walking. When Molly felt the wall against her back and she knew there was no where she could go. That was it, she was trapped.

 

"It seems you've been forgotten, lucky for me. Does make things easier," he said in a gruff voice, then she felt a prick at her neck and everything went black.

* * *

 

 

The next several days of Molly Hooper's life were a confusing mass of drugs, beatings and humiliation. In her more lucid moments she hoped vaguely that someone was coming to get her, but it was a distant dream. Something kept telling her that Sherlock was gone, and not coming back. She couldn't help thinking that he certainly wasn't coming for her. Those moments were few and far between though. Mostly she'd be beaten to the point of unconsciousness then given some kind of drug to bring her back out of it or given a drug that made her sleep, that one she didn't really mind. She was given water and the occasional bag of crisps then allowed to relieve herself in a bucket, it was humiliating. She only ever saw one man, by the sound of his voice it was the same man who had taken her from Barts. Sometimes, however, she could hear voices in the hallway outside her room. She wasn't tied to the bed or a chair, that in and of itself was somewhat torturous, if she could only get to the door... but she never had the energy. She hurt everywhere.

 

One day, she didn't know when as she had no idea how long she had been there, the man came in with an unusually feral look on his face.

 

"He hasn't figured it out yet luv, seems like he needs a little motivation. Let's get you ready first." He started by giving her another proper beating, then followed it up by ripping half her clothes off. He removed just enough to expose one of Molly's breasts and her bruised thighs. She was propped up on the bed and told to be still, as if she had a choice, since she was barely conscious.

 

The man took several photos with a phone, chuckling the whole time. Molly didn't try to cover herself; she could hardly even open her eyes let alone lift her arms. When he was finished gave her a toothy grin. "Maybe this will get his attention," he said as approached her. She felt yet another needle being jabbed into her neck. The last she saw before blacking out was her captor casually strolling out of the room.

* * *

 

When Molly started to wake up it took several minutes to realise she wasn't in that room anymore. She heard the sound of a heart monitor and could smell the disinfectant and oxygen infused air of a hospital. Nothing had ever smelled so sweet. She still couldn't really move and frankly didn't want to. Even turning her head slightly hurt terribly, but she saw the IV in the back of her hand leading to a morphine pump, that's when she realised how much worse she could be feeling were it not for the drugs. She closed her eyes and tried to relax when she heard someone walking into her room.

 

"How is she?" _Greg, Greg Lestrade_ , she thought.

 

"I just read her chart. It could have been worse." John Watson's voice sounded strained and hoarse. "But not much."

 

"She'll recover though? Tell me she'll recover." Greg again.

 

She heard John release an exasperated breath, then she heard footsteps going back out the door. They started talking again. If their intention was to be out of earshot, they had failed miserably.

 

"Yes she'll recover, physically. But that's hardly the point isn't it?" John's voice was an angry whisper.

 

"John, I feel just as bad as you do but..."

 

"But, but what?" John interrupted. "How could he have let this happen? I'm going to kill him. I'm gonna kill him with his own brolly."

 

"You can't say shit like that to me, I'm an officer of the law."

 

"Fuck you Greg. I'm a little sick of you defending him. I can't believe you arrested Sherlock."

 

"I didn't arrest him. I cuffed him and took him away from a situation that could have escalated very quickly," Greg defended.

 

"If only."

 

"This isn't the place for this discussion, John."

 

"Then go! I promised Sherlock I'd stay here until he was finished with his statements."

 

"John," She heard Greg start to say something but she heard John walk back into the room.

 

Part of her wanted to open her eyes and talk to the army doctor, she had so many questions. However a bigger part of her was exhausted from only being awake for a few minutes. So she let the medicine do its job and drifted back to sleep.

 

The next time she woke up it was to a doctor she didn't recognize talking to a nurse as she jotted down orders. Molly slowly blinked, trying to adjust her eyes to the brightly lit room.

 

"Hey there. Look who's awake. This certainly is a good sign. I'm Dr. Samuels. How are you feeling?" he asked.

 

 

Molly cleared her throat. "Thirsty."

 

The nurse rushed to get her some water, then helped her take a few sips. "Where am I?" Molly asked.

 

"Charing Cross Hospital, you've been here for almost thirty-five hours. I understand that you're a doctor?"

 

Molly nodded.

 

"Do you feel up to going over your injuries? We can wait of course, if not."

 

She took as deep of a breath as she could draw. "Now."

 

"Well then I won't sugar-coat anything. As you can probably tell you have a pretty severe concussion. You have a cracked orbital and a ruptured eardrum. We had to put two screws in your hip, your femoral neck was cracked. Three broken ribs and most of the others are cracked or bruised. We will have to wait until some of the swelling goes down to see what we can do about the soft tissue damage to your palate and sinuses. Your legs, arms, abdomen and back are covered in contusions." He paused giving her a moment to take in what he had told her. "I understand your brother is on his way."

 

"I have no idea, but that sounds right. He lives in America," She looked back to the nurse, silently asking for more water. The woman obliged. Molly took a long drink. "Was I..." She cleared her throat again. "Was there any sexual assault? I-I can't seem to remember... everything." She couldn't look the man in the eyes as she asked the question.

 

"No, there didn't appear to be any sexual assault at all," he said with a very small smile.

 

Molly closed her eyes and released a breath she didn't realise she had been holding. The whole ordeal was still so much of a blur, she couldn't be certain that he hadn't raped her. She had no memory of being violated, but she knew she was unconscious a great deal of the time.

 

The doctor spoke up again. "Your friend Dr. Watson left just before we came in and wanted me to tell you that Mr. Holmes would be back soon."

 

For a moment Molly was pleased then memories came rushing back and she suddenly didn't know if she wanted to see either of the men. She thought about the days spent being beaten, starved and humiliated. She thought about the six or so hours she spent alone in her office wondering what was going on and assuming that she was safe. Then she went over her injuries quickly in her head. She'd be in the hospital for days, perhaps a week. There would weeks of physical therapy, she could have permanent hearing damage from the ruptured eardrum. And if the damage to her face (which she hadn't even seen yet,) was as bad as it sounded she might require reconstructive surgery. She had forgiven him so many times, for so many things. She wasn't sure she could this time. She had been left alone and unprotected. Forgotten. No, she didn't want to see the Boffin Detective or his blogging best friend.

 

The doctor was finishing making notes in her file. "Dr. Samuels, I don't want any visitors. No one except my brother. His name Allen. Allen Hooper. I don't want to see Sherlock Holmes or John Watson."

 

The doctor furrowed his brows. "Dr. Hooper, you do understand that Mr. Holmes is the one who found you. He rescued you and killed the man who did this to you. Are you sure this is what you want?"

 

Molly settled herself into the hospital bed and looked away from him. "Yes, I'm sure all that's true. This is what I want, please," she said.

* * *

 


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your support. The response to this story has been overwhelming. As I said before it's quite a departure for me, however I do like to push myself.
> 
> Once again thank you to MizJoely my beta, for picking up where all my Language Arts teachers left off (they tried, but I think I was busy flirting with boys when they were going over the finer points of commas, periods and quotation marks.) I had waaaay too much fun in high school. Wink!
> 
> I own nothing... Enjoy.

* * *

Molly had been sleeping soundly when she woke suddenly to angry shouting outside her room. It took a moment for her to realise she wasn't in a small, dank bedroom, but a hospital. She relaxed for a moment then tensed once again when she heard a familiar voice, she knew instantly who it was.

 

"... didn't mean _me_ you idiot. She wasn't talking about me. She simply doesn't want to be bothered by the press. Obviously you've allowed some reporter through your inept security and..."

 

"Mr. Holmes, she specifically said _your_ name. She asked not to allow you access to her room." She recognized the voice of male nurse who had changed her bag of saline earlier.

 

There was a pause. "She said...Wait a minute, how much morphine is she on?"

 

"I assure you, she was perfectly lucid when she made the request. As a matter of fact she asked that only her brother be allowed in to see her. Now if you will please leave before I have to call our _inept security_."

 

"I have to see her," he said suddenly sounding not at all like himself.

 

"Well it will have to be after she's released, because we aren't in the business of going against the wishes of a young woman who has just been kidnapped and brutally beaten. This way please."

 

There was a pause then Molly heard Sherlock say, "Of course." Then walk away. She breathed a sigh of relief. That's when the tears started to fall. He had seemed almost desperate. For a split second she had considered calling out and allowing him to come in. But no, he had forgotten about her. She was stronger than this, she could forget about him too.

 

Later that day her brother finally arrived. It was wonderful to have someone there to worry over her and hold her hand. He had so many questions though, questions she couldn't- wouldn't answer. He eventually let it go and told her to get some rest while he went to her flat and took a shower to wash the fifteen hours of travel off of himself.

 

Left alone once again bits and pieces of that week started to flash into Molly's mind. The trauma therapist that had briefly spoken with Molly earlier in the day had told her to expect this, but it didn't make it any easier. She turned up her morphine and drifted to sleep.

* * *

 

 

The next eight days of Molly's life would continue on this path. Waking, remembering, hurting, sleeping. She did have nightmares but thankfully they were as vague as her memories. Whatever cocktail of drugs her abductor had given her seemed to have stunted her awareness and as a result, her memories of what he had done to her as well. She could only remember bits and pieces. He had inadvertently done her a kindness. Of course, it was possible that she was repressing the memories, but somehow Molly didn't think that was the case. Only therapy would help her uncover the truth.

 

She only spoke with her brother, the therapist and of course her doctors and nurses. As the swelling went down she finally looked at her mangled face, she thought she looked like a monster. She wouldn't need any surgery as it turned out. Her nose was broken but she could decide later if she wanted to repair the deviated septum. She did, indeed have some hearing loss but it was only in one ear and it wasn't severe, the pain in that ear however, was a different story. On the fourth day she started physical therapy. It was miserable and slow. Her entire body hurt, especially her right hip.

 

Her brother wouldn't stop questioning her about the absence of Sherlock Holmes. It sounded suspiciously as if he had been in contact with the detective, but she refused to ask. The heroic rescue was plastered all over the papers, the internet and telly. She wouldn't elaborate on the circumstances of her self imposed sequester, she just asked him to respect her request and keep all newspapers out of her room.

 

Nine days after she first woke up the doctors decided she could be released from the hospital. She was nervous. Walking wasn't easy and she had to use a walker for the time being, she felt like an eighty year old. But with the help of Allen she made her way home feeling incredibly grateful that her building had an elevator. She gripped Allen's hand as they walked into her flat. She needed to take a moment, the walk down the short hallway had winded her. Toby greeted her with a meow and a swishing tail. She made her way to the settee and sat down gingerly. Toby jumped up onto his mistresses lap.

 

"I had to collect him from 221B Baker Street when I got here. Mr. Holmes had been taking care of him," her brother said, clearly trying once again to broach the sensitive subject.

 

"Well I'm home now, that's all that matters." Molly thought for a moment as she petted her beloved cat. "How did you even know where he was?"

 

"I had seven messages from a number that I didn't recognize when I landed at Heathrow. One of them informing me of the location of your cat." He pulled out his mobile. "Would you like to see the rest?"

 

"Not really. I could kill a cuppa though," she said, changing the subject.

 

"Molls, I'm trying to understand what's going here but you are not making it very easy. You haven't told me anything about what happened or why you are refusing to see someone who, by all accounts, was once very important to you. Not to mention the man saved your life. Please Molly, help me understand," Allen said with pleading eyes.

 

Molly fought back tears. She loved her brother so much and they hadn't seen each other in more than five years, since he had moved to America. Molly didn't want to talk though, she just wanted to forget about the last two weeks. "Allen, would you make me some tea? Please."

 

He studied her for a moment then kissed her forehead and went into the kitchen. Shortly after he returned with their tea there was a knock at her door.

 

Allen opened it to find Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade standing there, looking a bit sheepish if she had to describe him. He came in after introducing himself to Allen.

 

"How are you feeling Molly?" he asked as Allen gestured to a chair across from her.

 

"Have you ever wondered how a punching bag felt? Neither have I, but now I know," she said flatly before taking a drink of tea.

 

"Would you like some tea or coffee Detective Inspector?" her brother asked.

 

Molly spoke to her brother before Greg could. "He won't be here that long." She turned to look at the older man. "Will you Greg?"

 

He cleared his throat. "Um, thank you for the offer," He nodded to Allen then turned his attention back to Molly. "No, I just have to finish my report. The hospital staff said that you requested no visitors. I didn't want to pull rank so I decided to wait until you came home," He chuckled nervously at his bad joke but sobered quickly. "I'm sorry Molly, have to do this."

 

She said nothing, just gave him an empty stare.

 

He looked down at his little note pad and back to her. "Can you tell me about the kidnapping?"

 

"What would you like to know?" she said, looking him right in the eyes.

 

"Do you know what time it happened, approximately?"

 

"I know exactly when it happened Greg. I was getting ready to ask Mike if I could leave early, so I looked at the clock on my computer. It was 4:43pm. More than six hours after the broadcast. I was alone. I had been alone _all that time_." Molly felt the rage building up and she could do nothing to stop it. "Where were you at 4:43pm Greg? Where was Sherlock? John Watson? Mycroft and his band of black-clad minions? I was being drugged and taken by a sadist with a full pharmacy at his disposal," She took a deep breath. "Anything else?"

 

She was shaking. Allen noticed so he came over sat down, and put his arm around her shoulder. "Is there any way this can be done at another time?" he asked Greg.

 

The DI looked almost terrified. "Of course, yeah, I can... I can come back some other time." He got up and quickly saw himself out.

 

Molly let Allen hold her as she sobbed. They stayed like that until she fell asleep.

* * *

 

 

Allen laid Molly down on the settee and covered her with a small blanket he found in the hall closet. Then he grabbed his mobile and composed a text.

 

To say that he was worried about his little sister would be a huge understatement. Their parents were both dead and they weren't close to what little family they had left. He and Molly had been close at one time, but after their father's death they had drifted apart. Once he had taken a job in the US and it was a phone call every couple of months mixed with scattered emails in between. He felt lost. Molly had always been a bit of a loner. The only people she ever talked about were her work colleagues and her friend Meena, who had moved to Glasgow last winter. He had considered, though momentarily, calling Tom but that relationship had not ended well, so that was probably a bad idea. Even though he knew she would be resistant, he only knew of one person that could help him and after hearing Molly finally speak about the incident he was very reluctant to send the man a text, but he had no choice.

 

He received a reply immediately. Next he had to wake Molly and tell her he was going out for a bit.

 

"Molly, Molly," he said gently shaking her.

 

She woke with a start. "Whatizit- What's wrong?" she almost yelled.

 

"Nothing's wrong Molls, I just have to go get some provisions. We're out of almost everything."

 

She settled back down. "Just order something."

 

He laughed. "No, you need actual food. Here, take a pain pill and get some real rest, I'll be back before you know it." He handed her the pill and a bottle of water. She took it, gulped down the water and laid back down then snuggled in as Toby made himself comfortable in a spot between her knees.

 

Allen grabbed his jacket and wallet then took one last look at his baby sister before leaving the flat for his meeting with the famous hat detective whom he had heard so much about. He just hoped he didn't punch the man too early in the encounter.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, how do we feel about Allen? I had a hard time writing a brother, I have one but I barely know him since he's 13 years older than me and was out of our home by the time I can actually start remembering 'things.' I know this was a bit transitional but I promise big things are coming. Sherlock and Allen are meeting... thoughts? Thanks for reading. Lil


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the support, I love hearing from all of you. I love the theories and comments. 
> 
> Thank you once again MizJoely for betaing this story.
> 
> I own nothing... Enjoy.

* * *

Sherlock sat and anxiously waited for Molly's brother at the small café that he had chosen because it was close to her flat. The text had said that he was concerned about Molly, that he needed some help and that Sherlock would have to do.

 

Not exactly promising, but at this point Sherlock thought he would take what he could get. He desperately needed to speak with his pathologist. She was clearly misinformed about the circumstances surrounding her abduction and he was the only one who could set the record straight.

 

He was indeed distressed at being sent away from the hospital but he could hardly blame her. He had let her down. He had allowed Molly Hooper, of all people, to be seriously injured. And for that, he would never forgive himself. As far his devious brother was concerned, he had only begun his revenge.

 

He was well aware of the fact that she might never forgive him for what had happen to her, but had to at least try to explain himself. If she still chose to distance herself, well then he would have to find a way to live with those consequences. He had already told her goodbye in his own heart the night before the broadcast, he would do it again if necessary. Of course that was when he thought he was going to his death. This, knowing that they would both be alive, would be even more difficult but if it was what Molly wanted, he would do it... for her, _anything._

 

In the last month or so everything had started to change for Sherlock Holmes. Perhaps it was watching John Watson nearly fall apart at the thought of losing his Mary. Perhaps it was the enormity of the Magnussen case weighing down upon him. Or maybe it was simply years of denial finally catching up with the emotionally deficient detective, but it had finally happened. He had to admit defeat.

 

It's a peculiar thing when one realises one has a heart but isn't in possession of it.

 

In the matter of less than thirty days he had realised he was in love with his pathologist, killed a man, been sent to his death, then called back from it. Then the object of his affection was suddenly taken from him, in large part, due to his own brother no less. Now he could finally tell her, hold her, kiss her... however, she wanted nothing to do with him. He was being torn in a million different directions. The bottom line was that he had let her down, the one person who never stopped believing in him, never stopped caring, never stopped trying to get his attention, had needed him and he had failed her. Oh what she must think... If he thought he didn't deserve her love before, now he was absolutely certain of it. But Sherlock Holmes was selfish and driven, when he wanted something he generally got it. And the only way he was going to give up on Molly Hooper was if she looked him in the eyes and told him she never wanted to see him again. If she did, he knew it would be justified. He was broken out of his self-loathing by someone calling his name.

 

"Mr. Holmes."

 

The man was about John's height. Light brown hair, large brown eyes... _Molly's eyes_. He was trying to give Sherlock a fierce look, but wasn't quite managing it. He wants to hate me. _Oh, but he too much like Molly to properly pull it off,_ Sherlock thought, as his mind started automatically deducing the man but he abruptly stopped it.

 

"Mr. Hooper," Sherlock said standing up and extending a hand.

 

They both sat down.

 

"So we finally meet. I've heard so much about you," Molly's brother said, no indication if he meant it positively or negatively.

 

"I can only imagine," he said just before a waiter walked up and took their order.

 

"A DI from the Yard came by a bit ago. Molly wasn't happy to see him," he said cutting to the chase as soon as the young man left to get their coffees.

 

"Yes, Lestrade called me. He, um well, he's concerned."

 

"So you're all concerned now? What about for the six hours she was left alone? Was no one concerned about my little sister then? That seems to be a huge problem for her, understandably so. She won't tell me anything. As a matter of fact today is the first time she's talked about it at all and she very nearly had a panic attack. She wasn't even talking about the beatings Mr. Holmes, just the abduction itself." He paused studying his coffee that had just been deposited by a slightly nervous looking waiter, during his rant. His hands were balled in fists, Sherlock wonder for a moment if he'd make it through the meeting without getting punched in the face.

 

After a drink of his coffee, the man seemed to calm down, if only a little. "I have to go back to America Mr. Holmes. Not today, not tomorrow but soon. I have a wife and three year old daughter waiting for me, I miss them. As much as I know Molly needs me... I don't know what to do." He picked up his coffee and took another sip, looking out the window. "I don't- I can't leave her like this. I'm going to ask her if she will come home with me." He looked back to Sherlock.

 

Sherlock's stomach turned over. _No, not that. Molly on another continent? That can't be the outcome of this nightmare,_ he thought. Just one chance, that's all he needed. That's all he really deserved. He didn't speak, he was too busy formulating a plan in his mind. If he could talk to her and explain what had happened, the lies, the poorly executed plan. His brother. He looked down at his still bruised knuckles, most of the cuts had healed but a few still remained. He couldn't let her leave. She wouldn't go, would she? Then he thought about how she'd looked when he had found her in that room. He hadn't been able to wake her up; she was as limp as a rag doll and covered in bloodied bruises, her face unrecognizable. Perhaps the other side of the world was the best place for her.

 

"Mr. Holmes, is that what you want?" her brother asked. "I got the feeling from your messages that you, well, that you felt something for Molly. Something deeper than a working relationship. I'm trying to make a decision with almost no information here and as much as I want to hate you for getting her into this whole situation, I can't help but think that I might be missing something."

 

No, he had to explain. Then if she wanted to leave or never see him again, he would...  "She still doesn't wish to see me. However if she could be persuaded, I believe I have pertinent information that she would find useful before making such a decision." He paused. "If you could get me an audience, perhaps I could help her understand the events leading up to her abduction and the lengths I went to in order to bring her back to me." He looked at his companion trying to convey the meaning of his words. It seemed to work.

 

"I believe I understand. She's had a very hard day and I need to get some food and make her a meal. I'll be in contact as to when you can come to the flat." He stood up and held out his hand once again, Sherlock took it without hesitation. "I hope for her sake as well as yours that she believes you. I'd hate to see my sister live the rest of her life with a broken heart," he said before leaving the café.

* * *

 

 

Sherlock left and walked toward Baker Street. Although he wanted nothing more than to find Mycroft and deliver a third and more brutal beating to his pompous big brother, he needed time in his mind palace to work through his thoughts. Sherlock certainly felt his share of guilt for what happened to Molly, but the majority of the blame rested firmly on the British government's shoulders. In the end Sherlock had found little satisfaction in killing Sebastian Moran since Mycroft had offered sweet, innocent Molly up like a lamb to the slaughter.

 

Sherlock felt his rage boiling up as he turned the corner and saw the sleek black government car waiting for him in front of his building. "Feeling up for round three brother dear?" he mumbled out loud.

 

The door opened and Anthea got out, closing it behind her. She looked concerned. "Sherlock," she said.

 

"Please tell me he's in there, I want nothing more than to finish what I started last week."

 

"Sherlock, listen to me. He's- he's actually well... upset." She sort of scrunched her face, making a facial expression he had never seen before (or perhaps he'd just never seen her make any facial expression before.)

 

"What do you mean he's upset? Mycroft only has one emotion... scornful hate." He turned and walked away.

 

"I've known him for fifteen years and I'm telling you, I've never seen him like this," she called out.

 

Sherlock walked back to her and got very close. "I. Don't. Care!" he said, clearly enunciating each word.

 

"He thinks you're never going to forgive him." She sounded desperate.

 

"As per usual, he's very much right," he said as his anger rose even higher. How dare Mycroft care about forgiveness when Molly Hooper was suffering because of him. The man was unbelievable. "Tell my brother, that this is over. The games, the brotherly teasing, pretending that somewhere deep inside we care for one another. If I see him again, I won't be held accountable for what I do. Make sure he understands that last part. It will upset Mummy ever so much to see her eldest child in hospital." He turned and left the PA standing alone on the pavement.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, questions answered, at least some of them. Yeah, Sherlock's a bit upset. Thoughts?
> 
> Thanks for reading by the way. Lil


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm cooking now! You all have far too kind to me. But really none of this would have been possible without my wonderful beta MizJoely. She has been amazingly supportive and has taught me so much! Also, of course, MrsMCrieff who answers my Britt questions night and day. These two deserve much more appreciation and credit than I can possibly express.
> 
> I own nothing, well except Allen. Look at that, I finally own something, what do you know? Fun!
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

Molly went to her psychical therapy appointment the next morning and suffered through it with a fake smile. She knew Allen saw right through it. He managed to talk her into stopping at a restaurant for lunch on the way back. As soon as they got home she laid down for a much needed nap. When she woke up she managed to make it into the sitting room without the use of the walker

 

"Look at me, now I only look like I'm in my sixties," she joked.

 

"You're getting there Molls, that's what's important." He went into the kitchen to make her tea.

 

She was quite proud of making it all the way to the settee, but by the time she got there she felt exhausted. The realisation almost made her cry. She couldn't wait for her body to return to normal so she could get back to work. That's when it struck her: work meant having to see Sherlock. She took a deep breath. She hadn't made any long-term plans as how to deal with the detective. Was he even still around? He was supposed to leave for some reason, perhaps he had gone after the day he tried to see her in the hospital. That would make returning to work much easier, no Sherlock, no awkward confrontations. She felt a deep and conflicting pain at that thought.

 

"Here ya go," Allen said handing her a mug of tea and distracting her for the moment.

 

"Thanks." She blew across the top of it and a thought suddenly occurred to her. "When are you going home?"

 

He sat down and gave her a thoughtful look. "Yeah, we need to talk about that. I need to leave soon Molls."

 

"I didn't think you were moving back here Allen. It's okay, I can take care of myself." She took a drink of her tea.

 

"Not yet you can't." He looked down at his watch. "I love you Molly. Please remember that."

 

She laughed. "O-kay. I love you too Ally," she said, using his childhood nickname as she smiled. Just then there was a knock at her door. Suddenly Allen looked very guilty and Molly felt trapped; something was going on, she felt like she was about to be the butt of some horrible joke.

 

Allen opened the door without checking the peephole and Sherlock Holmes walked in. Molly froze. _No, no, no this isn't happening._ Allen didn't even speak to the man as he came in, they clearly had this planned. She looked between the two of them, tears gathering in her eyes but unable to speak.

 

"Molly, I know you don't wish to see me, but if you could just give me a moment of your time to explain. There are things you do not understand," Sherlock said standing just inside the door.

 

With his words, Molly finally found hers. "Actually, I do understand Sherlock. Perhaps it's you that doesn't understand where you are not welcomed."

 

"Molly, I never forgot you. You were my first thought."

 

She laughed, a bitter and angry laugh.

 

He closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath and spoke again. "I swear I'm not lying, please give me a chance. Just one chance to explain myself and then if you never want to hear from me again... you never will." He gave her a look unlike any she had ever seen from the detective. He looked even more sincere and intense then the night he had come to her for help in defeating Moriarty. Sherlock, if she didn't know better, seemed to be in absolute misery.

 

She swallowed her tears and gestured with her hand for him to sit down, not trusting her voice at that very moment. He removed his coat and took a seat across from her.

 

"I'm just going to have a walk, get some fresh London air," Allen said with an awkward laugh. He grabbed his coat and left quickly.

 

"Your brother is a good man," Sherlock said. "I wish I could say the same about mine."

 

"He set this up. I'll decide later if I can forgive him," she replied.

 

"Before we start, may I ask how you are feeling? Am I allowed that?"

 

"I hurt... everywhere. But I'm healing. I will recover. This won't break me." She said each sentence with a steely resolve.

 

Sherlock looked her over and said, "I'm so sorry this happened."

 

"You had something you wanted to tell me Sherlock," she said studying her tea.

 

"Of course." He cleared his throat. "In order to do this I have to go back a few months. Back before the drugs test, before John and Mary's wedding."

 

Sherlock told Molly of Lady Smallwood and her husband. He told her of an evil monster and his blackmailing plots. He told her why he was briefly engaged to the busty bridesmaid from the Watson's wedding. Then he told her the most unbelievable thing of all; he told her that Mary Watson was the one that shot him. She couldn't hold in her gasp at that bit of information. He spoke of the Watson's nearly broken marriage and how he simply couldn't allow that to happen. Evidently there were things in Mary's past that threatened to destroy them all, including their unborn child, though Sherlock didn't elaborate upon them. Sherlock looked almost contrite when he spoke of shooting a man at point blank range on Christmas day. But he admitted that he couldn't actually feel remorse for the man's death, only the pain his own actions caused the people he cared most about. Then he came to his exile.

 

"I wanted to tell you- I should have told you. Molly I've felt more in the last month than I can remember feeling in my entire life. If I had come to you and said goodbye, it would have been too much. I don't think I would have been able to hold back anymore."

 

She finally spoke for the first time in more than thirty minutes. "Hold what back?"

 

He gave her a weak smile. "The way I feel about you. It's not... I don't know how..."

 

"Sherlock, what are you trying to say?"

 

He shook his head. "Of course, I'm not doing this right." He looked away and then back to her. "I, ah... the end of the story first perhaps, yeah?"

 

"Okay." She couldn't have been more confused.

 

"I boarded the plan and was in the air for about four minutes when Mycroft called me back. When I got back to the airfield he was gone. I got into a car with Mary and John. My first call was to Mycroft to make sure your detail was doubled."

 

"My detail?"

 

"Yes Molly, your detail. The security detail you've had since you helped me fake my death. He assured me that it was. I told him that I wanted you collected and brought to Baker Street immediately. A few minutes later he called back saying that you had refused."

 

"What?"

 

"I know, a lie, but please let me finish. We continued to argue about it when I reached the flat, where he and his agents were waiting for me. I wanted to go get you myself but Mycroft threatened to send me back on the mission. He said that he needed my full and undivided attention on the broadcast. The argument went on far too long, until his PA produced a laptop with a CCTV feed of you sitting at your desk. She assured me I could view it at any point during the day, which I did, many times. There you were working, you looked quite distracted I must say, but safe and sound nonetheless." He paused, taking a deep breath. " Around 4:30pm Mycroft pulled me away from what I was working on and took me to a warehouse, he said they had a lead. It was, of course, just a ruse to get me away from the feed so you could be taken without my knowledge.

 

"Mycroft set it up. But he overestimated the man. He assumed Moran would have a team, like Moriarty did. He didn't have an ID on Sebastian Moran, no one knew what he looked like. The man was a phantom. He had undergone some kind of reconstructive surgery several years ago. If they had just moved in when he was taking you..." He broke off, scrubbing his hands through his hair, looking around the room. Then looked back to her, his eyes teary and red. "I didn't know, I wasn't a part of the plan. It was a horrible plan," he said shaking his head. He drew another deep breath and Molly tried to reach for him. "Please, there's more and I must get through it. You deserve to hear all of it."

 

Molly nodded and pulled back. Trying to take it all in.

 

"My brother's agents were supposed to follow you, but Moran gave them the slip. How I have no idea. They lost you and Mycroft had to finally tell me what was going on. That was first time I've ever punched my brother," he said with a slightly far off look in his eyes. Then he turned back to her. "I searched Molly. I did. I couldn't find you. Moran was not Moriarty. He didn't leave clever clues. He assumed I'd be able to find him quickly and we could have our showdown. The longer it took me, the more he took it out on you." She noticed his hands trembling. "He was Moriarty's lover. He wanted to take someone from me that was as precious as James was to him. He was going to kill you in front of me, I think. He sent me those photos when he got tired of waiting. I thought the worst. I-I thought he h-had..." he stammered. "Y-you looked..." He paused.

 

He gathered his composure and resumed speaking. "He also sent clue with the photos. I finally found you and I killed him. He only had one other person working with him, just an errand boy. He's in custody. You weren't conscious Molly but you were alive. I know I let you down and I am sorry, I'm so-so sorry."

 

Neither of them spoke for a couple of minutes after he finished.

 

"Is that the end? Is there anything more?" Molly asked feeling slightly overwhelmed.

 

His lost a bit of their focus. "No, there is one more thing..."

* * *

 

_Sherlock was still clutching Molly's hand as the paramedics wheeled her out of the building._

_"We're going to take care of her, sir," some nameless paramedic said to him, though it barely registered. "Sir, you have to let go of her hand so we can load her into the ambulance." Sherlock looked up and saw three pairs of eyes staring at him. Somehow they had made it all the way to the vehicles and he hadn't even realised it._

_John appeared at his side. "She'll be fine. She's in good hands mate." Sherlock felt John's hands on his shoulders attempting to pull him back, but still couldn't find the motivation to let go of Molly. John put his hand on Sherlock's and gently prized his hand from hers. "I know she looks bad, Sherlock. But you have to trust me, I wouldn't lie to you, not about this. She will be fine, but you have to let her go."_

_Sherlock looked up and saw John's face and heard the clatter of the gurney being loaded into the ambulance. "John, she- she looks..."_

_"I know, I know." John said. "Molly Hooper is strong and she will..."_

_"I couldn't wake her up."_

_"She was drugged Sherlock. I'm sure of it."_

_"Yes, very unfortunate. But now that Miss Hooper is in good hands, can we get on with the investigation? We have his lackey in custody. I would have liked to have had Moran to question but of course, you had to go and kill the man so..."_

_The crack of Mycroft's nose breaking seemed to bring Sherlock out of his stupor. The second blow to Mycroft's jaw sobered Sherlock even more and by the time he had knocked out two of his brother's teeth Sherlock was fully back to himself. It took John, Greg and three agents to stop the assault._

_"Christ, Sherlock!" Lestrade screamed as two agents held Sherlock down. The DI cuffed him though it wasn't entirely necessary because he wasn't fighting anymore. "What the hell is wrong with you? You just attacked a member of the British government"._

_"He just punched his ass of a brother, Greg. And if he hadn't done it, I would have," John spit out._

_"Get back unless you want a pair of these yourself!"_

_"Get bent!" John said, not moving an inch._

_Mycroft was being attended to by a paramedic while Sherlock was shoved into the back of a police car. From his vantage point he could see John and Greg arguing, both men gesticulating wildly. He couldn't think. Every time he tried to clear his mind he saw Molly Hooper... dead. His logical mind told him she was alive. He had felt her pulse, albeit weak, but he couldn't stop imagining her lifeless. Mycroft... he was to blame. How could he have done this? Just then he looked up and saw Mycroft approaching Lestrade. For a split second he made eye contact with the man for which he currently felt nothing but contempt. Mycroft flashed a look of pure terror, he hadn't even looked that scared when Sherlock was repeatedly punching his face. He spoke briefly with the Detective Inspector then got into a government car and disappeared._

_Shortly after that Greg Lestrade came over and pulled Sherlock out of the back of the car. "So your brother says I'm not to arrest you," he said as he unlocked the handcuffs._

_Sherlock didn't speak._

_"Ya know I don't agree with what he did either. But you have to practice some self-control."_

_Sherlock still didn't speak but by this time John had wandered up from wherever he had gone to blow off steam._

_"Self-control? Greg do you really think now is the time to preach self-control to Sherlock Holmes?" John said stepping in between the DI and his friend._

_Greg huffed and ran a hand down his face. "Look it's been a stressful week and an even more difficult day."_

_John and Sherlock were both glaring at Greg. "What do you want me to do? Huh?" Greg asked looking at John._

_"I don't know. I just... I don't understand, why did he do this?"_

_"I know exactly why he did this," Sherlock said shaking with rage._

* * *

 

Molly was speechless. She didn't even know where to start. She hadn't been forgotten, she'd been used, only this time it was Mycroft Holmes who had used her. Sherlock was... She studied him for a moment. He was on the verge of tears, and clearly livid with his brother. He was shaking, she had a feeling if Mycroft Holmes was there at this very moment she would be witness to another brotherly beating. Her mind was reeling with the massive amount of information swimming around in it. She had so many questions, so many... wait, wait a minute... what did he say? Did he say... "Precious? I'm precious to you?" she asked trying to keep her voice steady.

 

Sherlock's rage seemed to dissipate in a matter of seconds and smiled a warm, genuine smile. "Yes Molly Hooper. You are the most precious thing in this world to me." __

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, lots of your questions answered. But trust me, there are still more nuggets of truth to ferret out. SO, do we forgive Sherlock completely? Thanks for reading!
> 
> Lil


	5. 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanking my beta MizJoely once again for her otherworldly knowledge of grammar and punctuation. Also MrsMCrieff for her undying support and answers to Brit questions (and the gif of Graves falling down... I'm still laughing.)
> 
> Well, that last chapter was a bit tough on our boy... I guess you want me to clean up this mess I made, huh? (Lil sighs) Fine, let's see what I can do...
> 
> I own nothing. Hope you like this one!

* * *

"T-the most p-precious thing...?" Molly stammered.

 

"That's what I said." Sherlock was trying desperately to gauge Molly's reaction. He knew what she had eaten for breakfast. He knew she had gone to physio therapy and it had been very difficult for her. He could even tell that she hadn't washed her hair since she had left the hospital. But reading emotions had always been very challenging for the detective. He had no idea if she would forgive him for allowing her to be taken and hurt so badly, let alone if she still felt any affection for him whatsoever.

 

"What's that mean, Sherlock? I- I don't understand." She had tears in her eyes.

 

Sherlock swallowed hard knowing that this was his one and only chance, he had to get it right. He cursed himself for not gathering more information on sentiment and romantic love. He knew that he loved Molly, he simply didn't know to relay this information to her. He had gone over it in his mind, stayed up the entire night and considered all the ways he could tell her. But looking at her now with her big, wet eyes he just knew he was going to bugger the whole thing up, as John would say. He raced through the halls of his mind palace looking for anything that would help him find the right thing to say. He ran from room to room suddenly feeling like the usually organized storage facility was a haphazard mess. He was still trying to come up with the correct words to describe his emotions when he felt a hand on his arm.

 

"Sherlock," she said suddenly appearing next to his chair. "You've been in your mind palace for fifteen minutes. Are you planning on answering my question or are you reorganizing old case files?"

 

"Oh I'm- I was... why are you standing? You should be sitting." He got up and made her take his seat.

 

"Well first of all, I _can_ walk and frankly I need to keep moving as much as possible. Secondly I needed a tissue and to make sure you were still with me, not lost in that giant brain of yours," she said with a small smile that made Sherlock's chest tighten.

 

Sherlock knelt down in front of her. "Molly, I don't know if you can forgive me for..."

 

"Shut up," she said softly.

 

"What?"

 

"You heard me. You've explained yourself and now I have the whole story." She took a deep breath. "How can I hold you accountable for something that wasn't your fault? It was wrong of me to assume that you had forgotten about me and to refuse to see you after saving my life. I convinced myself you cared nothing for me and that that's why I was left alone." She giggled. "I told you once that we all do silly things. Well, that includes me."

 

Sherlock was stunned. Would this amazing woman never stop surprising him? "So you forgive me?" he asked in a whisper as he took both of her tiny hands in his.

 

"Oh Sherlock, of course I forgive you. Though I'd still like some clarification on the precious comment. I haven't felt like you even knew I still existed for some time now. I've hardly seen you in months. You can see how I might have jumped to conclusions."

 

He tightened his grip on her hands. "I-I got too caught up in the Magnussen case. I should have spoken to you, apologized for the drugs and for embarrassing you about the end of your engagement."

 

Molly's face fell just a bit. "Yes, you should have. I can't believe you did that Sherlock. Drugs, of all things?" She looked down at their joined hands and took a deep breath. "Look, I've had to take in a lot of information today and you still haven't explained what it is that you've been trying to tell me. You should know the longer it takes you, the more freaked out I become. Now get to it... I have more questions."

 

He lowered his head. "I don't know what I'm doing," he said almost to himself. Then he looked back up to her. "What if I screw this up?"

 

"Haven't I already proven that I'll forgive you for just about anything?" He nodded silently and she put her hands on either side of his face. "Then please, just tell me Sherlock." Tears were gathering in her eyes once again. "Just say it. Whatever it is, tell me... please."

 

"Just say it?" he asked. "Is that enough? Is-is that all I have to do?"

 

She nodded and smiled sweetly.

 

"Oh my God I love you Molly. You are everything to me and I don't just want your forgiveness, I want your love too. I need it. I'm sorry that it's me who loves you, you deserve better. I'm sorry that I'm... well, who I am. I wish I was... no, I want to be better for you. Just don't leave me. Let me try, please tell me you still...?" He took a deep breath.

 

"Love you?" she asked as silent tears fell.

 

"I'll do anything. Whatever you need, I- just tell me what I need to do to prove myself."

 

"Prove yourself? What makes you think you have to prove yourself to me, Sherlock?" He shook his head, because he really didn't have an answer to his emotionally charged question. She brushed her thumb across his cheek, wiping away a tear he didn't realise had fallen. "Of course I still love you. Have you disappointed me? Yes, but that doesn't make someone fall out of love. And why would you think I was leaving?"

 

"Your brother said he was going to ask you to move to America with him. He- he... I thought..."

 

"Oh Sherlock, Allen has asked me to move to the U.S. every time we've spoken since he left. Religiously. He knows, even with these circumstances, I would never leave England. I'd never even leave London." She paused and laughed. "You, Great Detective, have been had."

 

Sherlock was stunned for just a moment. He couldn't speak. _How did I miss that,_ he thought. He was so astonished at Allen's ability to trick him that he missed Molly's change in mood.

 

"Sherlock, is that the only reason you said those things? To get me to stay? Was this some kind of desperate ploy to keep your favorite pathologist in London? Because that would be beyond cruel." She looked furious.

 

"NO! NO! Molly, God no. I do love you, I-I never, I'd never do that to you. I- no... p-please believe me!" he stammered and begged.

 

"Okay, okay. I just panicked for a moment. It's been... well, a bit overwhelming, that's all." She took a deep breath and winced.

 

"Are you okay? You're in pain." He looked over her body trying to figure out how to make her more comfortable. He finally looked back to her face.

 

She was smiling so brightly he felt like his heart might just explode. "You should kiss me now you silly man, but take it easy on me, I'm still sore."

 

Sherlock was too stunned to move for exactly thirty-seven seconds, Molly patiently waited. Finally he ran his hands up her arms as gently as he could, feeling like every nerve in his body was on fire. The simple act of touching Molly, even through her bulky sweat shirt, was both exhilarating and calming at the same time. It made no sense, but so far in his limited experience, nothing about love seemed to make much sense. For instance, how someone as sweet and kind and wonderful as Molly Hooper could ever love a man like him.

 

He held her shoulders and pulled her closer as he moved towards her. He stopped just before their lips met to memorize the look on her face. She looked beautiful, radiant. Even though bruises remained she was utter perfection. She appeared to be slightly nervous, and a little... _oh_ , aroused? _Molly Hooper, is this all it takes to make you excited for me?_ he thought. Finally he closed the distance and softly touched his lips to hers. He felt her body instantly relax into his and she moved her hands from his face to his hair. He kept the kiss sweet and soft until Molly opened her mouth and brushed her tongue along his bottom lip. He took this to mean that her mouth and jaw didn't hurt enough not to enjoy a proper kiss. He opened his mouth and dipped his tongue just past her intoxicating lips. She whimpered and he moaned the moment their tongues met. It was electric, even better than he had imagined. But Molly pulled back abruptly.

 

"How did he know?" she asked.

 

Sherlock was a bit too dazed from the kiss to fully understand what Molly was asking. "What?" he asked trying hard to focus after the sudden shift.

 

"Sorry, I know that was an important moment, but I have to ask my questions before we get carried away. How did Moran..." She shivered as she spoke his name and Sherlock moved his hands to her back. "How did he know to take me? How did he know how you felt?"

 

Sherlock thought for a moment before he spoke. "Molly I- I have a theory..."

 

"You don't have theories, Sherlock. You just... just know," she interrupted.

 

This was difficult to explain. He knew he was right about everything Mycroft had done up to this point but to confirm his suspicions, he absolutely had to have physical proof. And this part was almost too unimaginable to admit to Molly- to anyone. He didn't want to keep secrets from her but this, this would at least have to wait. "If you will permit me, just this once, to make sure I am correct before I share my deductions. I know this is a first for me Molly and if it wasn't for..."

 

She held up a hand. "It's fine Sherlock, I trust you. You'll tell me when you're ready." She smiled then kissed his cheek, which calmed him so much it was truly shocking.

 

Sherlock pulled back and tucked a stray hair behind Molly's ear. "And now you want to know why it took me almost five days to find you."

 

She nodded.

 

"Fair enough." He swallowed. "I wasn't entirely myself for those five days. I- I wasn't in top form. When you needed me the most, it seems, I might have lost it a bit. I'm good at what I do because I can separate emotion from the process. Everyone calls me an emotionless freak, but it's how I work. I don't see people just witnesses, suspects, facts, evidence, puzzle pieces falling into place. Now I see- now I understand what it's like for the victim's families. I kept trying to think of you as a random kidnapping victim, but my heart wouldn't allow it. I just couldn't focus." His eyes hurt from fighting back tears, and even though he managed to do it, he felt lost and raw. "He hurt you over and over again because I couldn't do my job. And I couldn't do my job because I love you. Ironic isn't it? The one and only time you needed something from me and..."

 

"Stop! Just stop this!" Molly interrupted. "You did find me. You saved me and I'm here now. So just stop beating yourself up, please. If you keep this up you'll convince yourself that love is a weakness so..."

 

"No, I won't. You make me stronger Molly Hooper. I simply have to keep you safe and be better at my job. Better for you." He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

 

She firmly grabbed his face and brought him for another kiss, this one much more passionate, bordering on out of control. When they broke he kissed her jaw and nuzzled her neck then peppered it with tiny kisses. He couldn't believe they were actually here, making promises and holding each other. He had never felt so contented in his entire life.

 

"Allen will be back eventually," she whispered as Sherlock gently held her, softly kissing her still bruised face. "I'd rather not get caught making out in the sitting room by my big brother... again," she said with a devilish grin. "Also, I'm a bit tired."

 

Sherlock's heart sank. He didn't want to leave yet. They had only just confessed their feelings for each other. But he understood, she needed to rest.

 

"Get that look off of your face mister. I don't want you to go, just come into my room with me."

 

Sherlock perked up but was more than a bit confused. "Molly, you're still severely injured. I don't think we..."

 

"Am I going to have to teach you how to have a cuddle?" she teased. "It's not quite as satisfying as sex, but it can be nice."

 

Sherlock quickly stood up and helped Molly to her feet. They made the slow walk to her bedroom. Sherlock got there, first promptly removing Toby from the end of the bed and depositing him in the hallway. "Sorry Tobias, cuddling lessons." He shut the door behind him.

 

Molly was sat on the edge of the bed with a worried look on her face.

 

"What's wrong?" he asked.

 

"I, ah just realised, I can only lay on my back because of my ribs. They're still too sore to lay on my sides." She shrugged. "It will limit things." She bit her thumb nail, a nervous habit of hers.

 

Sherlock studied her bed. She had four pillows on the side where she slept instead of her usual one. Before being shot Sherlock had used Molly's flat, and more specifically her room, as a place to come and get away from Janine and her wandering hands. He knew Molly's sleeping habits. "What's going on with the pillows?"

 

She turned and looked at them. "Oh, while I was in the hospital I kept the head of my bed elevated. It's more comfortable on my hip than lying flat. My doctor kept telling me not to do it, that it made no sense, that a flat bed should be more comfortable. As if I don't understand my own body... know-it-all doctors," she half mumbled.

 

Sherlock smiled. "I have an idea. Stand up and move the duvet back." He removed his suit jacket and kicked off his shoes, then he started rearranging pillows. He got into bed sitting up with his legs splayed out wide. "Here, you can lean back on me like you do the pillows."

 

Molly stood by the bed wringing her hands. "Won't I hurt you?"

 

"Really? You were a tiny thing to begin with and you have lost..." He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head.

 

"Alright, save your calculations, I get it." She climbed in and placed herself between Sherlock's legs then settled back on his chest. "Speaking of being underweight..."

 

"Do you want a pillow between us?" he asked quickly.

 

"No, nothing between us. Not anymore." She sighed as she seemed to relax into his arms.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't yell at me please, more fluff on the way! What do we think about Sherlock's confession-o-love? Thanks for reading... I love hearing from you all!


	6. 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, many thanks to MizJoely, betaing queen extraordinaire. Also, thank you MrsMCrieff for clearing up my tank top/tee shirt problem... still confusing. ; )
> 
> I still own nothing,but I did plant flowers yesterday... they'll die tomorrow. Sigh.
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

Molly felt her entire body relax as Sherlock started running his hands up and down her arms.

 

"How are the bruises on your arms and back?" he asked.

 

She sat up a bit more. "Um... hold on." She decided to be bold or _continue_ to be bold since she had just invited Sherlock Holmes into her bedroom. If she thought about it too much she knew she'd lose her nerve, so she just did it. She took off the over-sized sweat shirt she was wearing (it wasn't that brave, not really. She was wearing a spaghetti strap tee underneath, although the absence of a bra did make her feel a bit daring.) "Now you can see for yourself. My arms are much better. How's my back, I haven't really looked at it?"

 

Sherlock didn't respond at first and Molly wondered if she had made a mistake. Then she felt him slowly lift her tee shirt and she felt the tips of his fingers grazing her spine.

 

"Hardly any bruises at all," he said, his voice slightly deeper than normal. Then he lowered her top and she eased back onto his chest.

 

Sherlock instantly brought his hands back up to her arms and began softly touching her once again. It felt so nice to have something else to concentrate on other than the overwhelming soreness she had felt for the past two weeks. He didn't seem to be trying to do anything other than caressing her skin in places that weren't too badly damaged. She closed her eyes when he brought one hand up to the back of her neck and rubbed with a little more pressure.

 

"You liked that, didn't you?" he asked.

 

"Hmm, yes. It was lovely, how'd you know?"

 

"Because you started rubbing my legs."

 

Molly looked down and saw that she had indeed moved her hands to his legs. She giggled. "Not much of a deduction there. That one was pretty obvious."

 

"So, is this a proper cuddle then?" he asked.

 

"Yes, but your buttons are rubbing at my back."

 

"Oh." He paused. "Lean up."

 

She did and that's when she realized he was unbuttoning his shirt. She carefully turned herself so she could get a good look at him and even though it hurt her hip to do so, it was very much worth it. _Damn my broken body_ , she thought as she took in his beautiful chest. He had pushed his shirt out of the way to expose almost his entire torso. She saw the scar from Mary's bullet. Sherlock noticed the moment her eyes fell on it.

 

"It's fine. Don't even think about it, not right now," he said with a reassuring smile.

 

Molly couldn't resist stealing a kiss while she was almost facing him. Once she turned back around and laid against his bare chest she thought, _yes, this is much better._ Feeling his warm skin against the parts of her back not covered by her top sent jolts of electricity through her body. She was certain she would have attacked the man if her body had been in any shape to do so. For the moment, however, she simply reveled in the sensation.

 

They stayed like that for a while just... being together.

 

Finally Molly got the courage to ask one last question. Everything he had said and done so far had been wonderful, but this was Sherlock Holmes, he had said and done many awful things, too. "Sherlock, I want you to understand that I believe everything you've said to me tonight. I, ah, think you do love me... now, right now, I do. But," She paused gathering her strength. "what happens in a few months or even a year when I'm not enough? Let's face it, I'm not as interesting as a nine." She laughed awkwardly. "You only just realised your feelings Sherlock, you have to know that they might change. As much as it's killing me to say this, I'm worried that you will lose interest in this and that could break me. It could... and most likely would." She closed her eyes tightly, wondering if she had just ruined what should have been a perfect moment.

* * *

 

Sherlock listened to Molly's words with rapt attention. He, too, had considered all of these things. He was nothing if not easily bored. What if a relationship wasn't something he could maintain? Would he disappoint Molly? Would he hurt her?

 

He had absolutely nothing on which to base a hypothesis. No practical experience. No frame of reference. Except... well; except one thing; he loved Molly. He knew he'd never knowingly hurt her and he would do everything in his power to keep her safe and make her feel happy and cared for.

 

Bored? How could he ever be bored with Molly Hooper? They shared the same interests, the same morbid fascination with death, the same strange sense of humor. No, boredom wouldn't be an issue.

 

"Molly," Sherlock finally spoke after her words had died and an uncomfortable silence had fallen over the room. "I can't make any guarantees. And I can't believe I'm being the voice of reason in this moment, however as I understand it, there are no guarantees in relationships. I can only promise to do my best and tell you that I would never compare you to a case. You, Molly Hooper, are something else entirely, something wonderfully different. I won't make promises I can't keep. I won't tell you I won't make mistakes, hell I'll probably screw up before I leave this room tonight." Molly giggled and Sherlock chuckled, relaxing a bit and feeling like he was doing at least an adequate job of assuaging her fears. "But I know that I love you and that I felt like I was dying when you were missing. I felt physical pain because I wanted you back so badly. I don't know anything about relationships, but I know that I need you. I don't foresee that changing. Ever."

 

He could tell that Molly was crying again but he didn't want her to get up. So he held her a little tighter and got her a tissue from the bedside table.

 

"Dose that help at all, Molly Hooper?" he asked as he kissed the top of her head.

 

She huffed out a single laugh. "Yes, Sherlock. That, ah, was lovely and well just... yes, it helped." She laughed and laced her fingers with his and turned her head so they could kiss. Then she turned and settled back into his arms.

 

Sherlock Holmes having a cuddle? He almost couldn't believe it. No matter how unbelievable it was, it felt incredible. Molly's skin was so soft he couldn't keep his hands off of her. Besides she seemed to enjoy his attention. Every so often she'd sigh and stroke his legs. He lost all track of time as they lay there holding on to one another. All conversation came to an end as they seemed to be speaking a different kind of language now. This amount of physical contact should have been disconcerting to someone who usually avoided it as much as possible. However touching Molly, holding her like this, seemed so natural, so... comfortable. He didn't want to stop.

 

"Your skin is so soft that when I take my hands off I can still feel the softness on my fingertips." He demonstrated by removing a hand and rubbing his thumb and fingers together. "It makes no sense whatsoever."

 

Molly giggled again.

 

"What are you laughing about?"

 

"I've never had anyone compliment my skin before. It's... sweet."

 

"I've never touched anything so soft in my life." He bent forward and kissed her bare shoulder, then her neck. She shivered. "Not good?" he whispered in her ear.

 

"Too good," she said with a sigh.

 

He realised as much as he would like to stay with Molly, now wasn't the time for such things. He knew she hadn't eaten dinner and he also knew that Allen would be leaving soon. He had plans to make and Molly needed to spend more time with her brother before he left.

 

"Molly, I should go," he said.

 

She leaned up with a bit of a wince, obviously stiff from laying in the same spot for too long. "Of course." She smiled as she moved her legs to the edge of the bed. Sherlock disentangled himself from behind her and scooted closer.

 

"Allen will be leaving soon so I was wondering if..." He paused, not knowing how to word his next question. "I would like to come and stay with you- just to aid in your recovery. You are doing remarkably well, but an extra pair of hands couldn't..."

 

"Of course Sherlock. I'd appreciate that, very much actually," she interrupted.

 

He smiled and leaned down, placing a kiss on her cheek. Molly grabbed his face pulling him back until their lips met. They kissed until they had to break for air.

 

"Sorry, I had to have one more before you left. This is a bit surreal; three hours ago I was fretting about having to see you at work, now I don't want you to leave," she said, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

 

"Never apologize for kissing me Molly Hooper." He kissed the end of her nose which made her giggle. He realised it was a sound he wouldn't tire of hearing. He stood, buttoning his shirt and slipping on his shoes, then grabbed his jacket. "I'll be back tomorrow, if that's okay."

 

"I'd like that," she said beaming.

 

He walked back to her, leaned down and gave her one last kiss before he left.

* * *

 

Sherlock found Molly's brother waiting for him in the sitting room. "Can I help you find a cab Mr. Holmes?" he asked.

 

Sherlock quickly deduced this must be code for 'let's step outside and talk about Molly.' "Please, call me Sherlock. And I always appreciate assistance with taxi acquisition."

 

Once on the sidewalk in front of the building, Molly's brother again got right to the point. "I assume you two worked things out?"

 

Sherlock nodded. "Indeed we did. We had a pleasant conversation. She understands what happened and..."

 

"I don't. I don't understand how she got caught up in all of this. And frankly I need some reassurance that if I leave here tomorrow or the next day, that she will be safe."

 

This conversation made Sherlock incredibly uncomfortable, however he owed the man. He had given Sherlock the opportunity to speak with Molly and he, of course, only wanted what was best for her. "I promise I will look after Molly, Mr. Hooper. I will take care of her and protect her. This situation was brought about because of my brother's poor planning, an enemy I didn't know still existed, again because of my brother, and my own compromised judgment. I assure you, I will do everything in my power to never allow Molly in harm's way again. As a matter of fact, if anything this dangerous arises again, I will drug her tea and stick her on a private jet myself, headed straight for you. She will remain in your protection until I have dealt with any and all threats. Do you understand me Mr. Hooper?" Sherlock watched Molly's brother's eyes double in size as he took in his words.

 

"That ah, seems a bit extreme but if it k-keeps her safe... I suppose..." He was looking off in the distance. Sherlock deduced that he was trying to decide if it was meant as a joke. When he looked back to Sherlock it seemed he had decided.

 

Sherlock realised there was one more thing he had to tell Molly's brother, though it wouldn't be easy... _not his area and all, though now it seemed.._. "I love her. There is nothing I wouldn't do to keep her safe and although this all very new to me I intend to never let her forget how much she means to me."

 

The man's face softened and he nodded his head. "That's what I needed to hear. These next few months will be... tough. Don't forget what she's been through. I'm trusting you with my baby sister Sherlock, don't make me regret it," he said then he chewed on his thumb nail for a second, just like Molly did sometimes. "Oh, and call me Allen." He smiled, patted Sherlock's arm and walked away.

* * *

 

Sherlock would have been floating on cloud nine all evening if it weren't for the fact that he checked his text messages when he got into the cab. He had five from Anthea pleading for him to call his brother and three more from John asking him make Anthea stop bothering him about Mycroft. This had to end. He changed the address he had given to the cabby and then prepared himself for yet another showdown with the British government.

 

Anthea answered the door at his brother's private residence looking incredibly relieved to see him until he stormed past her straight toward his brother's study. She followed begging for him to be gentle.

 

He whipped around at the woman. "Gentle? Are you insane? Listen very carefully to me Anthea. Stop texting me and never text John Watson ever again. Lastly, if the thought ever crosses your mind to consider phoning, texting or sending Molly Hooper a singing telegram, may God have mercy on your Armani clad soul."

 

"Take it easy on her Sherlock, she's worried about me. It's only natural."

 

Sherlock turned to see his brother, or who he assumed was his brother, though he hardly looked like himself. He was wearing pajamas and a dressing gown, his hair looked a greasy mess and he had at least three day's worth of growth on his face. No wonder Anthea was upset. Sherlock dismissed his brother's appearance for the moment, he was too busy basking in righteous indignation. "What's only natural? That your personal assistant would harass people across London because her boss needs a wash?"

 

Mycroft turned his attention to the woman standing behind Sherlock. "Anthea be a dear and give me a moment alone with my brother."

 

"Are you sure sir, after last time I mean?"

 

"Sherlock has no intention of attacking me again, do you brother dear?"

 

"I make no guarantees," Sherlock snapped as he gave an even more critical appraisal of his brother's face. There was still a fair amount of bruising around his eyes from the broken nose. Sherlock could see some swelling and redness around his jaw and lips. Possibly the reason for his unshaven appearance, perhaps it hurt too much to shave. _Good_ , Sherlock thought. "How goes the dental work Mykey?" Sherlock asked in mocking tone. "Get those teeth replaced yet?"

 

Mycroft cocked his head to the side but didn't change his expression. "My teeth are perfectly fine. Thank you for your concern."

 

"Sir, I think I will st..." Anthea started but Mycroft interrupted.

 

"It will be fine dear. Go to the kitchen and make yourself something to eat, perhaps some nice calming tea," Mycroft said then patted the woman's back as she walked slowly past him.

 

"What the hell was that all about? I've never seen you be that kind to her before," Sherlock said keeping a healthy distance from his brother because truthfully, even with his disheveled appearance, he still wanted to kick his ass.

 

"How do you not recognize friendship Sherlock? You've surrounded yourself with people who care about you. You expressly went against my advice and found yourself a whole group of friends." Mycroft looked Sherlock over. "And by the look of you a girlfriend as well. Isn't that interesting? She forgave you. You let her down, yet still the little mouse welcomed her hero back with open arms. Although anyone could have predicted that, I suppose."

 

Sherlock was across the room in less than two seconds, though he didn't touch the man. "Refer to her as anything other than Dr. Molly Hooper ever again and you'll be taking your afternoon tea through a feeding tube."

 

"Oh," Mycroft laughed. "I do hope you don't think you actually frighten me Sherlock. That truly is humorous."

 

"And all this time I thought you were supposed to be the smart one," Sherlock said taking a step back and resisting the urge to strangle the older man. "I'm finished here Mycroft- and for the record, I'm finished with you." He looked into his brother's eyes. "I have nothing more to say except this: make sure Anthea stops pestering me and my friends. It's very annoying." He turned to leave. He was in the doorway when he heard Mycroft speak. _No, not possible,_ the thought. He couldn't have heard correctly... "What did you say?" he asked turning halfway around.

 

"You heard me Sherlock," Mycroft said with his eyes on the floor. "Don't make me say it again." He sounded completely broken. All of the condensation and contempt was suddenly missing from his tone.

 

"No, you don't get off that easily. If you want to say _those words_ , you say them to her, _not_ to me." Sherlock waited for a response.

 

His brother slowly raised his head. Several tense moments passed. "When?" he finally asked, not making eye contact.

 

"I'll text your PA. I have no idea if she will agree to see you. I can only ask if she's willing." He turned to go. "It's more than you deserve," Sherlock said on his way out the door.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ouch! Thin ice Mycroft!
> 
> Two more chapters to go. Let me know what you think.
> 
> Come visit me on tumblr, same name.
> 
> Thanks for reading.


	7. 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, sending love to MizJoely, without whom this would be gibberish, lol. Also MrsMCrieff for continuing to answer my inane questions about all things UK (and sometimes just indulging me about scones.)
> 
> The first part of this chapter talks a bit about Molly's abduction and what Moran did to her. If that is in anyway a trigger for you, please skip it. Scroll to the first horizontal line and continue on (there be fluff.)
> 
> I own nothing- please enjoy and thanks for reading.

* * *

Molly sat in her psychiatrist's office two days later, playing with the hair tie on her wrist. Neither she nor the doctor had spoken a word for the last five minutes.

 

"So," Dr. Williams started once again. "You mentioned that your brother is leaving today. How do you feel about that?"

 

Molly looked up. "Fine. I knew he wouldn't be staying long-term. He has a family in the States. He... I'm not his responsibility."

 

"Molly, we need to talk about a support system. You've been through a traumatic event. You simply can't go through recovery alone."

 

"I know. I do have a support system Dr. Williams. I..." She paused, trying to figure out how to explain Sherlock, especially since his emotional confession and subsequent offer for assistance had happened so recently. "I have someone, he cares for me and wants to help. He's asked to stay with me while I recover. Also, now that I understand the circumstances a bit better, I think... no, I know I will have my other friends to help me through this as well."

 

"Good, that's good. That will defiantly be helpful." He scribbled on his notepad then looked back up to her. "What about nightmares Molly?"

 

"They're the same as the memories, broken and fuzzy. The worst ones are about being taken from Barts. Feeling alone and abandoned." She twisted the hair tie around her fingers. "But I don't remember very much about when he had me. It's like..." She paused. "moments, flashes. A punch here, a needle prick there. Several unkind words. I remember, in my more lucid moments, feeling humiliated and also afraid that no one was coming to get me. I- I'm having trouble piecing it all together. I do remember the day he took the pictures, with some clarity. I remember him ripping my clothes a-and th-thinking..." She paused, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

 

"It's okay, if you're not ready to talk about that day, we don't have to."

 

Molly shook her head, and took several more deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself. Once she felt more in control she spoke again. "A lot of it's just so blurry, maybe it was the drugs or the concussion... maybe I'm just repressing the worst of it, I d-don't know," she said, continuing to play with the hair tie. "What do you think?"

 

The doctor put his notepad down and leaned forward. "I've seen your medical records, Molly. Frankly, I'm leaning towards the drugs and concussion. I'm not saying you won't ever start to remember, I'm not saying that it's not a possibility. But in my professional opinion, you were most likely not really _present_ for a great deal of the trauma. Perhaps he planned it that way. Most likely he just got carried away. We'll never know. If things do start coming back, later for instance, it's very important to talk to someone. Get back into therapy immediately and talk to your friends and family. Whatever you do, don't try to handle it on your own."

 

Molly nodded.

 

"One last thing I'd like to cover today Molly, then we'll be done, okay?" He smiled. "You were kept in a locked room. How are you dealing with that? Can you stand to be in a room with a door closed?

 

Molly considered this for a moment before answering. "I don't sleep with my bedroom door closed, but I never have. I leave the door cracked, so my cat can get to his sand box. The bathroom has made me a little anxious since I've been home. But the only time my bedroom door has been closed since the hospital, I wasn't alone. Sherlock was with me."

 

"Sherlock, is that the friend who will be staying with you?"

 

She hadn't meant to mention him by name. Everyone knew who he was, and she didn't really want anyone to know about them, just yet. "Yes," she said with a sigh.

 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

 

"It's fine. I'm sure he will want to meet you at some point. I'm surprised he didn't ask to come today. He's most likely already checked your credentials, as a matter of fact."

 

"Well you're here, so I assume I have his approval."

 

Molly shrugged.

 

"If it's any consolation, I already suspected who it was," the doctor said with a knowing grin.

 

"How?"

 

"Well, your rescue was all over the newspapers and television reports. Also, he called the office this morning threatening to have my medical license revoked if I upset you in anyway. He cares a great deal for you Molly. A bit overzealous, but I think you're in good hands."

 

Molly tired to hide her embarrassment but Dr. Williams, of course, picked right up on it. "Don't worry Molly, it didn't bother me at all." He gave her a reassuring smile. "Next time we'll talk more about coping mechanisms and go over relaxation techniques again. I'll even show you a few more that they might not have shown you in the hospital."

* * *

 

 

Allen was in the waiting room when she came out of her appointment. He had his bags as he was leaving for the airport straight from the office.

 

"Feeling okay?" he asked.

 

"Yeah, I'm good. I wish I could ride with you to the airport though," she said as she put on her coat.

 

"It's fine. You need to go home and get some rest." He stuck his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Um, Samantha called me while you were with the doctor. Do you know anything about ten grand being deposited into our bank account today?"

 

Molly grimaced and cursed under her breath. "No, but I can guess who does."

 

"It wasn't Sherlock," he said.

 

"No, it was his big brother... _'Big Brother.'_ " She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. "Look, he's just trying to pay for your trip. Keep the money, consider it... a restitution of sorts."

 

"I don't want it. If anyone deserves restitution it's you. I didn't mind coming here to help you, and I don't want to be paid for it."

 

"Oh, I'm sure he'll attempt to pay me off as well." She rolled her eyes. "Wouldn't be the first time."

 

"What?"

 

"When I first met Sherlock, his brother... Oh never mind, it's not even an interesting story." She took a deep breath. "I'm gonna miss you Ally."

 

"I'm gonna miss you too Molls." He hugged her as tight as he dared, then he pulled back. "Let's not wait for another kidnapping to see each other again, okay?"

 

Molly laughed. They held hands and walked of the waiting room.

 

Once outside, they found Sherlock waiting with a cab. "This is for you," he said, picking up Allen's luggage and putting it in the boot.

 

"Thanks." Allen turned to his sister. "Call me. Eat, please, you have to put some weight back on. And let him take of you. I think you both need this." He leaned down and kissed his little sister on the cheek. She had tears in her eyes. "Don't cry Molls." He was fighting back tears of his own. "You'll make me cry in front of the Great Detective. That would be humiliating," he said as he laughed.

 

Molly giggled and leaned in to whisper in his ear. "I'll tell you something, but you have to promise not to sell it to the tabloids." Her brother nodded. "He cried the other day, when he told me. He's not as tough as he looks."

 

They both laughed and hugged again. Allen walked over to where Sherlock stood by the cab. "Alright, she's all yours. Take care of her or I'll come back and... well you know." He tried to give Sherlock a stern look.

 

"Of course Allen. I do hope we'll see you again, soon and under better circumstances of course," he said offering the man his hand, which Allen gladly took.

Once her brother was gone Sherlock turned to Molly. "You must be tired. Let's get you home and get you fed," he said putting his arm around her and holding up the other to call a cab.

* * *

 

 

They went to back to Molly's flat and ordered a generous amount of Chinese food. After they had eaten and Sherlock had cleaned up, they settled in and started watching some random documentary. Sherlock was lying on the settee with Molly between his legs, much like they had that first evening together. Toby found a comfortable spot on Molly's lap, and was happily being petted by both parties.

 

"This is going to bore you to death within a week, Sherlock Holmes," Molly said, completely out of the blue about a half an hour into the program.

 

"Are you kidding me? I find the art of candle making a fascinating subject matter."

 

"Aren't you cute? You know exactly what I'm talking about," she said, swatting his leg.

 

"I don't know, I've never really had any kind of holiday. I think I'm owed, don't you?"

 

She shook her head. "Don't make jokes Sherlock. This isn't your speed and you know it. How are you going stand all this lying about, waiting on me, doing dishes?"

 

"There are a few things I'm quite looking forward to, you know."

 

"Really, and what would be? Are you under the impression that a case is going to pop up in my building?"

 

"Not at all. I _will_ be doing your laundry, correct? Seems I'll finally get into your kickers."

 

Molly started laughing uncontrollably, causing Toby to jump off of her lap and run across the room. She and Sherlock laughed together for several minutes.

 

"I'm serious Sherlock," she said finally getting control of herself.

 

"So am I Molly. Won't you also need help bathing?" He leaned down and nipped at her ear, then kissed her neck.

 

"Why are you trying to distract me with humor and sex?"

 

"Because it's much more fun than letting you try to convince me that I'm going to regret this. Which I'm not! Besides, I've already considered the fact that both of us will most likely get bored. Garth is getting us some old case files to work on, and Stamford has agreed to 'loan' us some left-over appendages. I'm bringing my microscope tomorrow."

 

Molly turned her head to see a very satisfied looking consulting detective staring down at her. "Well, you've thought of everything, haven't you?"

 

"Indeed," he said then kissed her on the end of her nose, once again causing her to giggle.

 

"But Garth? Really?"

 

"What?" he huffed.

 

"Never mind, look we've missed half of this riveting documentary."

 

"Well that's your fault Dr. Hooper." He kissed her neck again. "You never did answer my question about the bathing situation..."

* * *

 

 

Sherlock had tried to think of the most unpleasant circumstances possible in which to allow his brother access to Molly. In the end he was actually quite proud of himself. Molly's brother had been gone for a week and she was healing rather well, both physically and mentally. She was still quite sore, and sitting in one place for too long caused a great deal of stiffness in her hip joint. Mornings, for instance, were incredible difficult. But all in all her recovery was progressing. After a lengthy discussion, Molly finally convinced Sherlock that she was ready and more than willing to hear Mycroft's side of the story.

 

Molly sat on her settee with Sherlock on her right. Mary Watson sat to her left, with John in a dining chair next to his wife. Martha Hudson sat in Molly's grandmother's rocking chair near the front window. Greg Lestrade and Mike Stamford were also sitting in dining chairs near Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock's parents rounded out the group in the only other chairs he allowed in the room.

 

Sherlock had sent a simple text to Anthea with a date, a time and the words _Molly's flat_. If given the opportunity, Mycroft would have had them meet at some posh restaurant for afternoon tea, undoubtedly making Molly feel awkward and out of place. Today was about taking care of Molly Hooper, not clearing Mycroft's conscience. His brother wasn't aware of this fact as of yet, no doubt.

 

Sherlock had briefed each and every person in attendance. He had informed them that there would most likely be awkwardness, name calling, shouting and possibly more punching (Mummy wasn't happy about that part, though she seemed to at least understand.)

 

Molly was actually the hardest to convince that a show of force was necessary, but in the end she acquiesced. Mycroft had the entire British government on his side, why shouldn't she at least have her friends? Sherlock knew that the set up- Molly's flat, all these people, their parents, the fact that there was no place for Mycroft to sit- would infuriate his brother. He simply didn't care. That was the point, after all. Let Mycroft be wrong footed for a change. It was one thing to throw Sherlock under the bus, but put his pathologist in harm's way and... well Sherlock wasn't above fighting dirty.

 

At precisely four pm there was a knock at Molly's door. As directed, John Watson opened the door and a very surprised Mycroft Holmes walked into the fray.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright... Apology time! How will this go? Still waiting on those answers aren't we? Sorry. You will get them, I promise.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!
> 
> Lil


	8. 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me start by saying thank you all for indulging me in this story. I know it was hard at times to see Mycroft as the baddy, it was just as hard to write...sometimes. (Since I adore him.) Your support really means the world to me. I have met the most amazing people in the Fandom, you are absolutely lovely. I'm sad to see it end but excited to get to work on other things. I have three chapters finished on Science of Evolution (for those of you still following.) I'm also working on another very angsty story (eight chapter in on that one, not finished yet.) I have one shots galore... fun ones! Thanks again... Hugs, Lil
> 
> Thank you so much MizJoely, I've learned more from you in the last few weeks than from all my ELA teachers combined (again I hate to blame them... I sort saw class as open mic night at the stand-up club, most of the time.) MrsMCrieff, you are my favorite Brit... sorry Ben... (I think I might have just broken his heart.) You answer all of my questions and make me laugh until I cry.
> 
> One last time, I own nothing. Please enjoy.

* * *

"Afternoon Mycroft. Let's get this over with. All these fine people have places to be," Sherlock said, not making eye contact. His body was angled toward Molly's. He had an arm draped around her shoulder, his free hand held tightly to one of hers. He looked relaxed, however Mycroft Holmes knew better. He could see the minor indicators of tension showing in his brother's shoulders and the clench of his jaw.

 

He walked into the room and stepped in front of the television, clearly the spot that was designated for his trial by fire. As he scanned the room, taking in its occupants, his gaze stopped on his parents. "Mummy, Papa? What on earth are you doing here?" he asked.

 

His father spoke up. "Just showing our support son."

 

"Your support of whom?" he asked, still trying to gather himself. He wasn't at all prepared to see his parents present for this inquisition.

 

"Well, Molly of course," his mother said, looking indignant.

 

He huffed, pulling at his suit jacket, then shot Sherlock a look of utter contempt. "I see, well Miss Hooper, I..."

 

"Doctor," Sherlock interrupted. "I did warn you about that brother."

 

Mycroft studied his younger sibling. _Well played_ , he thought. _Surrounding her with people who care about her and in a familiar setting, of course. Making sure I have no where sit, no tea, not even a single scone. Fine, I am a diplomat for God's sake, this is what I do for a living._ He cleared his throat. "Certainly. _Dr. Hooper,_ I believe I owe you an apology. It seems that due to an error in judgment, you were caused undo pain, both physically and emotionally. And for that I am truly sorry." He finished with his most gracious, albeit disingenuous smile, and a head nod for good measure. Though he was barely looking at her.

 

The room's reaction was the following: John Watson chuckled derisively, his wife huffed and crossed her arms over her sizable belly. Mike Stamford planted his face in the palm of his hand. Greg said _blimey_ , while staring in awe. Mrs. Hudson tsked and shook her head. His father took a deep, cleansing breath and his mother grumbled _Dear Lord_ , with a signature Holmes eye roll.

 

Molly started to speak, however Sherlock squeezed her hand. "Umm no, I don't think so," he said, glaring at his brother.

 

"Excuse me?" Mycroft said to the younger man.

 

"This isn't a state dinner nor a contract negotiation. This is you, attempting to make amends for deliberately using an innocent woman, as a pawn in a poorly planned game." He paused. "Try again," Sherlock said smugly, then turned to Molly and kissed her temple.

 

Mycroft took a deep breath of his own, in an attempt to gain some kind of control over the situation. He was no fool. Sherlock's intention was to get him to make an ass of himself in front of all these people. Well, he was the one who taught his little brother that particular trick, and he wasn't about to fall prey to it.

 

"If you are questioning my sincerity Sherlock, believe me when I say it pains me to know that our actions that day led to Dr. Hooper's abduction..."

 

"Not _our,_ Mycroft," Sherlock interrupted. "You made those decisions and those decisions didn't lead to Molly's abduction. Her abduction _was_ the plan. Now, you either own up to what you did or leave. No one here has time for your half-truths or practiced diplomacy. Or did you not recognize that you are in a flat in Islington, rather than the palace? Molly has been good enough to give you the opportunity to present your case, so far you are doing a piss poor job of it." He looked as if he was starting to lose his cool. "Last chance."

 

"I don't know exactly what it is want to hear from me, Sherlock. I've tried to apologize to Dr. Hooper and each attempt is met with..."

 

"Mycroft," Molly said softly.

 

He sighed and looked at her, really looked at her for the first time since he had arrived. He had been so busy trying to keep himself at an advantage, he had neglected to give the woman an honest appraisal. She had lost at least nine pounds. Her injuries seemed to be healing, however, he could see that even sitting on her settee was causing her a significant amount of pain. She had slept for no more than four hours the night before, undoubtedly due to trauma induced nightmares. _Oh, damn. Guilt. So this is what it feels like._

 

"I have a question to ask, if I may?" she asked, breaking him out of his thoughts.

 

He swallowed hard. "Yes, of course."

 

"Why?"

 

He leaned forward just a bit. "I'm sorry?"

 

"Why did you think it was okay to risk my life, to put me in danger? I-I don't... understand."

 

"I- you don't see the... We thought..." he stammered. "It wasn't supposed to..."

 

"I do see that part actually. But why did you allow that man near me in the first place? You deliberately drew Sherlock away, and lied to him to keep him from knowing what was going on. You pulled my detail and watched as a known murder stuck a needle into my neck. We know each other Mycroft. You watched me cry at your brother's fake funeral. I've recently found out that you knew from the beginning that I was the one who helped Sherlock in that endeavor. I helped save your brother's life. Yet you allowed Sebastian Moran abduct me. Then he beat me over and over again. He ripped my clothes off and took photos of me, then sent them to the man I love in order to engage him in a twisted game. He humiliated and starved me Mycroft. You allowed that to happen. So, why?"

 

There wasn't a comfortable person in the room. Mycroft actually shifted on his feet. "There are aspects to this situation that would be better discussed in private, Dr. Hooper..."

 

Sherlock laughed at his brother's statement. "This is as private as it's going to get Mycroft. Tell her. Tell her about the broadcast."

 

Every eye turned to Sherlock and Mycroft's bulged. "W-what?" he stuttered in disbelief.

 

"Tell her about the mystery that I couldn't solve, or didn't care to, once I had something more important to focus on. And you seemed all too happy to let that aspect of the investigation drop, rather quickly I'd say, now that I think about it," Sherlock said with fake thoughtfulness. "So why don't you tell her why it took him six hours to come after her. Why he came after her at all, for that matter."

 

Molly was the only one in the room not looking horrified at what the detective was proposing. She was staring a hole into Mycroft Holmes so intense, he felt like he might burst into flames.

 

Everyone in the room was staring at him expectantly. He really had nowhere to run. If he divulged what he had done- sent out the broadcast himself to call Sherlock back and draw Moran out in the open- there would be no way to save face, especially in front of all these people. Mummy would be furious and Papa so disappointed. He had forged some kind of, if not friendship, then professional camaraderie with Greg Lestrade. That would be no more. He hoped that Mike Stamford at least respected him to some extent, after all the years of communicating with the man concerning Sherlock's access to Barts. He knew Mrs. Hudson loved Sherlock, but he secretly hoped she at least cared for him in some small way. And as for the Watsons, he had much more respect for them than he ever displayed outwardly, even with Mary's shady past. After today, that would never be returned.

 

On top of all that, these were state secrets Sherlock was asking him to divulge. Although, if he were honest, he frankly trusted everyone present and could easily have them sign the appropriate documentation necessary. Most of them had done it before. He sighed and inwardly admitted defeat.

 

He looked around the room one more time and wiped a bead sweat off of his forehead. Then just as he opened his mouth to speak, Molly stopped him.

 

"Mycroft," she said once again. She turned to Sherlock and asked for assistance in standing up. She seemed a little stiff after sitting for so long. She slowly crossed the room to stand in front of the older man. "I don't think you're a horrible person. I think you made a mistake, well several. I think you tried to save Sherlock's life. And in the process you hoped to bring down a very bad man, and earn your brother a pardon. I was just collateral damage."

 

He tried to speak, but Molly wouldn't allow it.

 

"Don't, I'm right and you know it. Sentiment," she said with a smile. "You love your little brother, and for that I simply can't blame you." She turned and looked adoringly at Sherlock, who had stood up to watch the exchange protectively. "I completely understand that feeling." She turned back to Mycroft. "Just say that you are sorry- and mean it, and all will be forgiven."

 

He was speechless. Completely and utterly speechless. This small, quiet, seemingly insignificant woman had rendered Mycroft Holmes mute. It dawned on him that she had basically put him out of his misery. She had saved him from from a humiliating and damaging explanation in front of all of these people. He did his best to pull himself together (a tumbler of scotch would have helped tremendously.) Finally after some throat clearing and eye blinking, he managed to find the appropriate words.

 

"Dr. Hooper, I am truly sorry for what I did. You are a remarkable woman and didn't deserve to be used as bait for a trained killer. It was my fault, and no one else shares the blame." He looked down at his feet. "I do hope that you can forgive me." He looked back up. "And believe me when I say that I am happy to see you by my brother's side. Though I dare say he may not deserve you." He looked at his little brother, who was staring back at him with burning anger in his eyes. "I'm not quite sure any of us do."

 

Molly smiled through her tears. "Mycroft Holmes, may I hug you?"

 

 _Oh damn, could this day get any worse_ , he thought. "Of course, my dear." He heard his mother sniffle and his father hide his tears in a cough, as he and Molly embraced. Mary Watson didn't even try to stifle her sob, but the woman was nearly nine months pregnant. John could have done a better job hiding his tears though, he was a former soldier for God's sake. Mrs. Hudson cried almost as hard as she had at Sherlock's funeral. Mike and Greg stood up and started rearranging chairs, for no apparent reason, sniffling and clearing their throats.

 

Sherlock made his way to his brother. "Please take your hands off my girl."

 

Molly stepped back and Sherlock wrapped an arm around her waist. "Sherlock I..." Mycroft started.

 

"If Molly's forgiven you, nothing more needs to be said," he said with no smile on his face.

 

Sherlock's words made Molly smile, but Mycroft heard the thinly veiled contempt.

 

Mary Watson waddled up. "Tea! We all need tea."

 

Mycroft still thought scotch would have been more appropriate, however he wasn't going to turn down the offer. Molly kissed Sherlock's cheek and followed Mary to the kitchen to lend a hand.

 

Sherlock turned to Mycroft. "A word in the hallway." He didn't wait for a response, simply walked to the door.

 

Mycroft followed, though he wasn't thrilled about having been issued an order. Once in the hallway, Sherlock squared on his sibling so quickly, Mycroft was certain he was going to get punched once again.

 

"Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me?" Sherlock repeated the sentence, never taking his eyes off of his brother. "What letter was that brother mine?" he asked calmly, his hands clasp behind his back.

 

Mycroft knew there was no point in denying anything. It was the simplest of codes. _Did you miss me,_ played 13 times then paused. Then 15, then 12 twice in a row, then 25 times. Basically it spelled MOLLY. It was how he had tipped off Moran to Molly's importance in Sherlock's life.

 

Even though he already knew that Sherlock must have figured it out, the elder Holmes was flooded with a new rush of guilt. "Does she know?"

 

"Of course. I felt she required all of the evidence in order to make an informed decision," Sherlock said, his shoulders rigid, not a hint of emotion on his face. "She knew everything before you arrived. She also knows that Sebastian Moran was supposed to have died in an explosion in Kiev two months after my return, but somehow came back to life with a new face just in time to keep me from being sent to my death. That's a big screw up Mycroft, but as it turns out a fortunate one. Fortunate for you, not so much for Molly."

 

Mycroft was gobsmacked. She knew everything, yet she still forgave him. It didn't make any sense, none of it... "How?" he asked, though he hadn't really meant to say it out loud.

 

"How, how what? What are you talking about?"

 

"How could she forgive me?" he asked.

 

"Oh, that. Yes, I can see how you'd have a problem understanding that part. Frankly it took me a while. She's not like us Mycroft. When we see people we read them like books, asses their importance, their usefulness to us. We are shrewd, calculating, problem solving machines. But at what cost? Molly on the other hand, she sees the good in people, even when there is very little to be seen. She is loveliness and light. She is kindness and faith. And she is quite honestly stronger than you could ever imagine. She the very definition of forgiveness, Mycroft. Molly Hooper is, in a word... _divine_. That is why she can forgive you." He shoved his hands into his pockets and stepped closer to his brother. "It's also why she's asked me to forgive you." He shook his head. "I haven't yet." He paused. "But I'm willing to try, because you are family and more importantly, because she asked it. Just know this, she is my first priority from this moment forward. You'd do well to remember that. Besides, Mummy would never forgive you if something kept her from becoming a grandmother." Suddenly his face filled with rage. "She will never again be used against me. She will never again be put in harm's way. Do I make myself clear?"

 

Many time over the years Mycroft Holmes had wished his little brother to simply grow up and take responsibility for his actions. He wished for Sherlock to find something that would settle him down and stop his maddening ways. Never once had Mycroft considered that a woman could accomplish such a task. "Of course. She will be provided the best protection the Crown can offer," he said. "And you have my personal reassurance, as meaningless as that may be at this time, that I will never do anything to put her in danger, ever again. I swear it Sherlock."

 

Just then the door opened and Molly stepped out. "Really? This again... Stop being Holmes' and come inside before the tea gets cold." She gestured with her hand. Neither of them moved. "Do I need to go get Mummy?"

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh, fine. We were done anyway." He turned to his brother. "Come on, that wasn't an idle threat. Since they've become friendly, I get away with nothing."

 

As Mycroft followed Molly and Sherlock back into the tiny flat, his first thought was that he hoped that they had rectified the seating situation. His second was that he was incredibly grateful that Molly Hooper had survived the ordeal to which he had subjected her. And lastly, he thought that he had never before been so wrong in assessing a person's importance. He had completely misjudged Dr. Hooper's role in his brother's life. He couldn't quite wrap his brain around that. Perhaps he needed to reevaluate some things.

 

He was pulled from his thoughts when Molly placed a warm cup of tea in his hands, then she actually smiled at him. He watched awe as she turned and walked toward his brother, who immediately scolded her about being on her feet too long, he decided, _yes.._. he would indeed reevaluate the way he saw people. At least some people.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay give it to me. I know some of you didn't want her to forgive him, but it's Molly. She is so lovely. Sherlock on the other hand...
> 
> Tell me what you think.
> 
> Thanks for reading.
> 
> Lil

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, that's chapter one... Tell me what you think. I know, poor Molly. Updates are coming. Feedback is always appreciated. Thanks for reading. Lil


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